Things that go bump

History has not been kind to phrenology, the art of reading mental characteristics from cranial formations. The word calls up images of wild-eyed, calliper-wielding quacks, or ceramic model heads marked out like globes with countries called Amativeness, Cautiousness and Philoprogenitiveness. We think 'lumps and bumps'; we think 'dustbin of history'.

But phrenology enthusiasts in the early 19th century did not see themselves as charlatans, or even as eccentrics. They saw themselves as the vanguard of a new scientific discipline. Indeed, had things turned out a little differently, they might now be hailed as the forerunners of modern neuroscience, for they believed not only that mental faculties resided in the physical brain, but also that they were located in particular areas - which seems astonishingly prescient.

Yet there was no direct line of influence as there was in other fields - say, from Lamarck to Darwin. The gap was too great. Phrenologists' intuition about cerebral localisation thus appears a mere coincdence, rather than as a vital (if flawed) first step towards a new science.

One historian who believes it is not enough just to say phrenology died out because it got it wrong is David Stack, Lecturer in Modern British History at the University of Reading. He is embarking on a fascinating research project, supported by the Wellcome Trust, to explore the inglorious fate of phrenology through a detailed study of one important pioneer and his lecture tours in the 1830s and 1840s: George Combe.

Combe was born in 1788 in Edinburgh, and originally trained as a lawyer, but changed direction after hearing a lecture by the early phrenologist J G Spurzheim. From then on he devoted his energies to promoting the subject, first by trying to convert the University of Edinburgh's influential medical faculty and then - when that proved futile - by addressing the lay public directly. This was much more successful: he attracted large audiences and plenty of publicity, especially during a gruelling lecture tour in the USA between 1838 and 1840. But this popular success alienated the Edinburgh medical establishment even more, and further reduced his chances of being taken seriously.

Not that he was a dumber-down, or a frivolous entertainer. Combe was as careful to distinguish his rather demanding lectures from mere theatre as the medical profession was to distinguish itself from him. He would never give casual, one-off talks, but insisted that people sign up for an exhaustive series of 16 lessons and four practical seminars: he was determined to deliver a solid grounding in the subject.

But, suggests Dr Stack, what Combe thought he was imparting and what the audience took away were likely to be different things. And to some extent, Combe did pander to his audience's desire for entertainment. He used attention-getting, performative techniques: "It is probably no accident that the first lecture in the series was always on amativeness," notes Dr Stack. Combe knew how to attract a big crowd on opening night.

Through his research into Combe's audience and its responses, Dr Stack is discovering that Combe's own legend of his exclusion by a monolithic medical establishment is a little too simplistic. "He liked to present himself as an outsider," says Dr Stack - he saw himself as another Galileo, a plucky 'little man' battling the behemoth. In reality, his work did receive a reasonable hearing from the universities - especially in the USA.

And if phrenology ended up as a fairground sideshow, it was partly his own doing. In response to audience expectations, Combe's phrenology gradually moved away from its origins in pure anatomy, and towards a greater emphasis on 'useful knowledge'. His largely middle-class, mercantile audience wanted to anatomise character, not brains.

They wanted to learn techniques for choosing a good servant or employee, while getting the flattering feeling that they were improving themselves. Combe obliged, and this made him popular - but it also quietly took away his own motivation to develop the theory more rigorously, and he acquired few serious disciples to take research to the next stage.

Dr Stack has a big job ahead of him, especially when he eventually expands his research into the full-length biography he hopes to write. He will be ploughing through a vast archive in the National Library of Scotland - including Combe's lecture notes, travel journals, lists of door takings and expenses, and thousands of pages of correspondence, as well as equally voluminous piles of material in other repositories.

He wryly admits that, had he realised how much material there was, he might not have had the courage to start - but he is glad he has. The results promise to be illuminating, and to reveal a great deal about the interplay between orthodoxy, maverick medicine, and public enthusiasm - equally relevant in light of today's growing public appetite for science and medicine, and public engagement. And no doubt he has a wonderful supply of Conscientiousness, Constructiveness and Concentrativeness tucked away in his cranium to see the project through.

Ever wondered if any good ever came out of that human genome thing?
Fear not, the cosmetics industry has been quick to spot an opportunity...

The 50th anniversary of the discovery of the DNA double helix spawned many events, features and celebrations. In an enterprising attempt to find a new angle, The Sunday Times published an illuminating feature on DNA and the cosmetics industry. It's good to know that all the work of Watson, Crick, Sulston, Collins and the legions of DNA sequencers has not gone to waste...

"Today the dermatologists are celebrating," says the article, "because the knowledge gained [from the Human Genome Project] is helping to unravel how DNA affects ageing, and they're using this information to create a new generation of skincare." One has to admire the ingenuity shown by the companies in their drive to save our ageing complexions.

Lancaster's latest "miracle mixture", for example, 365 Cellular Elixir Intelligent Anti Ageing Care, promises to repair damaged DNA and therefore combat the effects of ageing - "increased DNA repair slows the repair of wrinkles," the article declares, "although only a limited link has been proven." "We think there is a direct link between DNA damage and wrinkles," adds Lancaster's Dr Leonhard Zastrow, "but we're not sure what it is yet."

Lancaster's Elixir contains "endonuclease, an enzyme that repairs DNA at night". This is complemented by "photolyase, an enzyme from plankton [that] is very similar to the enzyme used by human skin to renovate DNA in daylight."

The major players are also keen to get involved. Chanel is poised to launch a face cream that "slows sagging by aiding DNA repair". Cunningly, it is combining its molecular biological innovations with good old-fashioned nature: "The blend of apple and walnut stimulates the production of heat-shock proteins (HSPs), which chaperone another lot of proteins - those involved in DNA restoration."

But we don't have to wait for Chanel, because there are already products that can "heal our helixes". Why not try Clinique's Repairwear night moisturisers, for example, which "supply cells with more of the energy they naturally use to patch up DNA".

Dermalogica, by contrast, is also pursuing the enzymatic route: its After Sun Repair "encourages an enzyme called ligase to rejoin broken DNA".

An inspired piece of thinking by "therapeutic skincare range DDF" has led to a "Bio-Molecular Firming Eye Serum" containing adenine, thymine, guanine and cytosine, the four bases of DNA. "The theory is that having more of the basic ingredients of DNA in the skin boosts cell reproduction".

And finally, Valmont swears by salmon roe DNA, which "enhances the cosmetic properties (moisturising, regenerating and protecting) of DNA". "Over the past few years, at the company's laboratories in Switzerland Valmont's scientists have slaved away to find a better way of preserving the fish extract." The result? "potent powder" called Cellular DNA Complex - yours for just £236 for seven single-use phials.

Do any of these fine-sounding products actually work? Well, there does appear to be a link between DNA damage and ageing. Wellcome News may be over-cynical, but given the cost of these products we wonder whether some fresh fruit might be a better investment. And eaten rather than smeared on your cheeks.

Wellcome News is anxious to hear any other stories of DNA put to imaginative or unusual use. Or perhaps readers could suggest other approaches cosmetic companies could adopt. Email us at wellcome.news@wellcome.ac.uk.

External links

• Dr David Stack at the University of Reading: Research interests